


Knowing

by roughlycut



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Gen, Gore, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 09:31:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17041226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roughlycut/pseuds/roughlycut
Summary: Shiro has figured them out, this faction of Galras. This isn’t about obtaining information about Voltron, about conquering planets, about enslaving millions. They haven’t been asked a single question since Voltron was captured, and they have received no answers when they’ve asked. There hasn’t been any communication, because Shiro and the rest of the crew are being held captive for entertainment. They’re just a simple way for the crew to pass time.





	Knowing

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written back in October 2017 for the Voltron horror zine "Eternal Eclipse". Unfortunately the zine was never published, so I'm choosing to post the fic here. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> Also a big thank you to Alec who helped me out with this fic when I edited a little earlier this year.

Shiro wakes up to the screams of Allura begging the Galra guards to leave Pidge alone, to take her instead, to spare the girl. She’s straining against her chains, pulling them taut, fighting to get closer to Pidge on the other side of the cell. Shiro can tell that it’s useless.

They’re not listening.

If anything, it seems like they’re putting on a show to get Allura more agitated, hands groping Pidge’s body through her clothes, laughing at the girl as she tries to squirm away. Shiro doesn’t want to watch, but he can’t look away, not when Pidge’s eyes fall upon him, a desperate look on her face.  
He shivers with suppressed anger, digging his nails into the palm of his hand, as one guard licks across Pidge’s cheek. It’s no use getting angry, he tells himself again and again.

Shiro has figured them out, this faction of Galras. This isn’t about obtaining information about Voltron, about conquering planets, about enslaving millions. They haven’t been asked a single question since Voltron was captured, and they have received no answers when they’ve asked. There hasn’t been any communication, because Shiro and the rest of the crew are being held captive for entertainment. They’re just a simple way for the crew to pass time.

Shiro looks at Pidge with the kindest face he can muster. Tears form in her eyes, rolling down her cheeks, as she closes her eyes. Capitulating.

This was her fate from the moment they were captured. From the moment they learned that this was all about entertainment. About pleasure.

Shiro knows. Pidge knows.

It was over for her the minute they found out she was like Allura. Shiro knows how the world works, the order of things. He’s seen it. There were no women fighting in the arena the last time he was captured, he knows there won’t be any now. Women serve a different purpose. They’re kept in locked rooms, discussed loudly between guards. Their endurance. Their willingness. Shiro remembers the orders he overheard, guards shuffling to bring unnamed slaves to the general’s quarters. He remembers the muffled screams in hallways. He remembers the incinerators, the stench of burned flesh.

He catches himself wishing Pidge’s death will come fast.

Like Lance’s did.

The guards take their time unlocking the chains, touching Pidge as much as possible. She does little to resist now. Shiro watches as Allura grits her teeth, her face hardening with anger. They force Pidge towards the door, firm grip in her hair. A guard gets too close to Allura, doesn’t see her launch forward until it’s too late. The sound of her teeth sinking into the flesh of the guard’s arm, biting off a sizeable chunk, makes Shiro’s stomach churn.

The attack earns Allura a punch to the side of the head, blood from her mouth splattering across the floor. She goes quiet after that, body sagging slightly, only held up by the chains around her wrists and torso.  
Pidge’s legs start trembling, her body refusing to move any further. Shiro has never seen her look so vulnerable. It’s unfamiliar, uncomfortable, to suddenly realize how small she is. How young. The guards yank her head back, growl indistinguishable words into her ear, before pushing her towards the door. She turns her head to the side, giving Shiro a desperate look, eyes wide and again filled with tears. He wants to say something, tell her that it’ll be okay, reassure her that Keith and Hunk is still out there, somewhere.

They’ll figure something out, Pidge.

Rescue is still a possibility, Pidge.

We’re not going to die here, Pidge.

But he can’t make himself lie to her. She’s a smart girl. She already knows.

The guards push her forward, harshly, her face still turned towards Shiro, eyes not leaving his. The door to the hallway opens, and it’s like time stands still. Seconds stretching to what feels like minutes. A strange sense of calm settles on Pidge’s face. Acceptance. And then just like that, she’s gone, the automatic door closing behind her and the guards with a hiss.

Shiro knows he won’t see her again.

~

Time passes slowly, Shiro drifting off every now and then. He tries to keep track of time by how often they’re given water, but the guards seem inconsistent. There is no pattern to hold on to.

Feverish dreams make him feel like he’s losing his mind, his body trembling when he wakes up to the sound of his own screams and whimpering pleas to spare his friends.

At some point Allura wakes up, the chains rattling as she leans her head back against the wall. He looks at her, looks at the dried blood around her mouth. She’s changed, skin a sickly shade and eyes unfocused. He catches her mumbling Lance’s name in her fleeting sleep.

They don’t talk.

Shiro wouldn’t know what to say anyway, not sure he’s got words that could comfort her anymore.

As they’re given their fifth ration of water since Pidge was taken away, Allura can’t lift her head to drink from the cup. The guards exchange glances and Shiro tries to get Allura’s attention. To say goodbye. But she doesn’t move. Not when the guards pour the remaining water on her. Not when they squeeze tight around her waist, forcing a weak yelp out of her. Not when they leave the room with a promise to be back soon.

The next time Shiro wakes up from his nightmares, she’s gone.

There are no signs of struggle.

No blood.

He hopes that she was too weak for them, too broken to be useful, to fulfill her purpose. He hopes that she didn’t register what was happening as she was, hopefully, brought to the incinerators.

~

Shiro slips into a dreamless sleep. At first he’s relieved, no more nightmares, no more false hope for him to latch on to. But then time seems to stop moving forward all together. When he wakes up it feels like only seconds have passed.

He is given water three more times before he’s unable to lift his head. He’s exhausted, unable to focus. He can feel himself slipping, only briefly reconnecting with the world around him as they pour the remaining water on him. He shivers as it soaks through his clothing, making the fabric stick to his shoulders and back.

He wonders if they’ll deem him too weak for the arena.

The guards surrounding him talk, but he can’t quite grasp what they’re saying. They’re gesturing towards his missing arm, probing at it, picking at the loose wires. The sensations running through his body make him heave, but all he can manage to throw up is a bit of water. It lands on the feet of the guard closest to him.

Shiro barely registers the fist coming towards his face, barely reacts at all when it collides with his cheekbone.

They keep hitting him. Blow after blow, landing on his face.

He feels the skin on his cheek splits. Hears the crunch of his nose as it breaks, the clonk of his jaw dislocating.

He knows there is no way he’s fighting in the arena now. It’s only a matter of time.

The pain becomes all-consuming, and he can hear his own gurgling screams, see his own blood and saliva drip onto the floor. He focuses on it, the pool slowly increasing in size.

There’s a sharp tug on his arm, a deep stab in his abdomen, both followed by a gush of warmth. Shiro doesn’t need to look to know they’ve started cutting into him.

They take their time, poking holes in him. Sometimes it feels like there is a pattern, other times it’s just a continuous repetitive motion.

They start removing small pieces of skin on his legs.

He doesn’t know how long it goes on for.

Time becomes irrelevant as he slips in and out of consciousness.

They move him, that much he registers, but his eyes are too swollen for him to look. He knows it’s better this way. Not knowing.

He’s being dragged by the collar of his shirt, fabric cutting into his neck, choking him. He coughs, feels the wounds on his body ache and burn. The texture of the floor is rough against his naked legs.

He opens his mouth to speak, to protest, but stops when a gush of scorching dry heat wash over him.

The sound of the roaring flames is unmistakable.


End file.
